


fearless

by TheOnlyHuman



Series: arkhos [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BAMF Eret, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Foster AU, Gen, I had to do it, Kinda, Mafia AU, Organized Crime, Technoblade is badass, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Twins, Wilbur and Techno are twins, Wilbur is Sleep deprived, adopted family, because we love that, eret likes chilean food, more characters will be added with second chapter, mote con huesillos, organised crime syndicate, sbi are all adopted by phil, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, smpearth members included, techno's eldest, technoblade and wilbur arent the most responsible siblings, tommy got beef w dream over the lift, tommy is struggling to comprehend this, wil's middle child, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyHuman/pseuds/TheOnlyHuman
Summary: Tommy's a struggling college kid, he doesn't need a family secret heaped onto his stress levels right now. Except, that so-calledsecretisn't so much one as in it seems Tommy's the only one who didn'talreadyknow.or,mafia au where tommy gets the surprise of his life one random saturday morning
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Eret & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: arkhos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029768
Comments: 62
Kudos: 1116
Collections: aus that make my brain go brrrrrr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> general ages:  
> phil 30~34  
> wil and tech 22~23 (twins)  
> tommy 17

"C'mon, Tommy," came the booming shout of his eldest brother. "Hurry it up, we're leaving in five!"

Rolling out of his stiff _new_ bed, Tommy gave a snort. It was barely past eight AM; Technoblade was fooling himself if he thought he could get Wilbur out of the bathroom and them all through the front door in less than twenty minutes.

They'd moved to London not a week ago. They, being Tommy and his brothers, Wil and Techno, and their dad, Phil. He was still peeved at how quick they'd been forced to pack up from their safe, comfy Brighton home in order to relocate for Phil's _'new_ and _really quite important, Tommy'_ job.

He didn't even know what Phil's job was. Truth be told, after the adoption papers had been finalised, Phil had tried to sit him down and explain his job but Tommy hadn't really listened. What did he care about a boring old office job ( _at least, he was pretty sure Phil worked some dry typing job. He seemed the type)_ when he could be fantasizing about whooping his good friend Jack Manifold's ass in a minecraft pvp battle.

London was far away from Brighton. The move was disorienting, almost like another foster home jump. Tommy'd been picked up like a leaf in the storm and jostled down another alleyway by the yowling winds that sounded awfully like Wilbur groaning.

Oh. No; that was just the sound seeping in through the hellishly thin walls from Wil and Techno's shared bedroom. From the sound of it, Techno was putting his english major to good use as he tried to get Wilbur out of bed. Who knew Techno could make up coherent arguments this early?

Tommy looked at the green figured clock on his one-plank bedside table and reckoned he had ten minutes before Soot took over the shower. 8.37 AM.

Blearily, he registered the cool chill of the floor through his socks as he pulled his arms up to stretch. His elbow cracked nicely, leaving him blinking sated tears out of his eyes as he yawned. Techno's annoyed ranting had quietened, now a background murmur as Tommy winced at his own morning breath.

A brief flunk around his _new small stupid_ room later and he'd unearthed fresh boxers, socks and a relatively stainless pair of jeans from the littany of unpacked boxes that made up his furniture and the entire contents of his wardrobe. For a family with a dad who worked in an office (probably sorting out files or something) and stuck to a strict set of hours (hence why he was not currently in the house, he'd already left for work) their general levels of tidiness and control were often to be argued against in terms of respectability.

Although, seeing as Wilbur and Techno also had weird secretive jobs that they couldn't really explain when asked about, Tommy supposed they were a busy bunch. Especially now he was in college, Tommy was busy too; although trying to settle down into courses that were a few months behind his previous ones was a lucky break. But he still hadn't managed to unpack.

(Maybe it was the fear that he'd still somehow be sent back to that damned group home, even if he _was_ adopted and Phil _did_ always smile and say _'_ _goodnight_ _'_ in the gentlest fucking voice _ever_.)

Whatever. He was a man. He didn't need consolidation; he needed a work extension on his next project for that first period lesson on monday or he was fucked.

Halfway into shrugging on his jeans, having stumbled into the bathroom and shoved his toothbrush into his mouth, Tommy stopped. He blinked at the unflattering mop of blond hair in the mirror, the sleep-squinted eyes and general pastiness of his skin. He blinked and realised something.

He spat out his toothbrush, eyes watering from the stingy mint toothpaste he'd lathered the bristles in. He shouted, "It's fucking saturday!"

"What?" Was Wilbur's accompanied squawk. "It's saturday?"

There was a loud thump that signified the second twin ( _"Wil's younger by three minutes," "Two and a half, Technoblade."_ ) falling out of his bed. Tommy made an odd gurgling sound as he nearly choked on his toothpaste and hurriedly buttoned his jeans before shoving his toothbrush back into his mouth.

With the realisation he'd just done Techno's job for him, he renewed his efforts in cleaning his teeth as quickly as possible.

A minute later Wilbur barrelled into the bathroom, brown eyes aflame. Tommy made sure to spritz his deodorant twice more than normal before shutting the door in his face. The sound of Wil hacking rebounded over the odd roaring sound the shower made as its water pinged off the tiles, and it made Tommy's shitty morning that little bit better.

Technoblade was stood over the small electric cooker in the corner of the kitchen when Tommy made it off the shrill, creaky stairs. He hated the damn things, nearly as much as he hated this very move overall; Brighton had been fine, he thought, why couldn't they have stayed there. Fuck Phil's job.

"Porridge, Tommy?" Techno grunted, seemingly having resigned himself to the fact they weren't getting out the door any time soon. With Wilbur's extensive morning routine (which was longer than any man's had the right to be), he should've known by now they would never be on time.

"Sure," he said, sliding into a yellow fabricked barstool at the island - arguably the best thing about all of this.

The house they'd moved into wasn't small, but it wasn't big either, with a winding staircase Wilbur had to duck for if he wanted to sprint up, a small living room and a way too big kitchen. Not to mention that he'd been given the _smallest_ room of the entire bunch and there was also the fact that Tommy disliked the shitty three plot garden they'd gotten and was always reminded of when he looked out the adjoining kitchen window into the damp, little, fenced-off _box_ (because having a garden so crampt meant there was no room for him to grow things, what with Techno's fucking potato _obsession)._

"So what's the deal?" He asked after spinning thrice on the twisty stool. The sound of Wilbur sleepily humming in the shower had filled the house, making it seem a little warmer than what it actually was, but Tommy wasn't fooled. He was Tommy Innit, after all; he was an alpha who couldn't be _fooled._

He was fucking cold.

"What deal?" Techno asked, insufferable as always with his droning monotone and knowing eyes that glinted red sometimes when the light caught them _just_ right. Wilbur would've made some poetic comment about them, or something, but Tommy was more interested in how the light caught Techno's hair. It was up today, the pink scrawling mess hitched high in a half-bun half-plait thing where it bunched up at the hairtie-bit and flowed out in a long, intricate braid as it got longer.

Tommy had never thought a man could be intimidating and have bright neon pink hair until he met Technoblade. Though, Techno defied many expectations.

Like for example, when he dished out three bowls of porridge and gave Tommy the one with the most in it. A selfish man did _not_ do that, and Techno looked plenty selfish.

"Hey, man, I don't want this much," he whined, frowning down at the writhing mass of oats. Technoblade offered him a stern glare as he set out the two jars of honey and powdered sugar for himself and Wilbur, respectively.

"You're a growing boy, Tommy." The eldest chided, as if he _cared_ what Tommy ate as he spooned out ludicrous amounts of unsweetened, natural honey into his own bowl.

"I'm eighteen in six weeks," he complained, nudging his spoon into the pale mass. It was instantly sucked in by the goop. He suddenly regretted agreeing to let the eldest twin cook for him.

"The human body continues to grow until you're twenty-one," said Techno, all-knowing and _'oh, I got an A* in GCSE Biology, Tommy, what did you get?'_

"And then after that you begin to shrink," Tommy smirked, pointedly staring back at the pink-haired man.

"Who's shrinking?" Wilbur yawned, emerging from the hallway that contained the stairs and only the stairs, if one didn't count the front door on the opposite wall and the miniscule radiator with a beige cover that everyone dumped their house keys atop.

"Tommy is," Techno said at the same time Tommy shouted, "The pink haired fucker!"

The brown eyed, brown haired _'angel'_ (Tommy had heard old wrinkly ladies call him that, like _eww)_ blinked at them both for a moment. His eyebags were startlingly prominent today, almost black smudges that swallowed up his eyes entirely, and he evidently didn't have the willpower to put up with an unusually conversational Techno and a teenager making _very accurate_ accusations.

(Because Tommy was nothing if not _accurate._ )

"'kay," hummed Soot and slumped lifelessly before the steaming bowl that had been set out for him. He grabbed the powdered sugar jar with clumsy hands and would've poured it all out into his breakfast had Techno not quickly arrested the jar. Wilbur made a noncommittal noise somewhere between complaint and confusion as Techno shoved a spoon into his hand and ordered him to eat.

"We're going to Phil's work today," Wilbur said eventually, once the kettle had been boiled and coffee distributed ( _"Over eighteens only, Toms. Sorry,"_ he'd been told as he was denied the caffeine but Techno's smirk had been anything but apologetic).

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy echoed, looking up from his phone screen to see both his brothers staring intently at him. "What? I got something on my face?"

"We're taking you with us to work, Tommy," Wilbur repeated, as if that meant anything. Tommy stared at him, uncomprehending, and distantly noted the coffee had made his brother look less pale. Good, he didn't want to be walking around with a guy that looked like a zombie.

He scoffed. "And?"

"He's a bit vacuous, isn't he?" Techno idly piped up.

Wilbur and he shared a chuckle as Tommy scowled. "I don't know what that means."

"Oh, I know."

Tommy geared up for a lunge. He'd teach Techno to use words over two syllables in front of him; _how dare he._ Wilbur shook his arms between them and put on his mediating smile.

"Isn't that exciting, Tommy? To finally see what we do up close, yeah?"

Either Wilbur was being patronising or Tommy was missing something big. Honestly, Tommy wouldn't put it past himself for it to be both.

"Oh, definitely," he agreed, noting Wilbur's relieved smile with confusion. "I can't wait to see your shitty office jobs, or whatever. I won't be filing any paper."

He got two blank stares.

"Tommy," Techno started, amused and surprised all in one pink-burrito. "Just what-"

"Do you think we do?" Wil finished.

"Uh," he floundered, phone tapped into blackout mode as he set it onto the island table. There was something _very_ important he was missing _,_ obviously. "Office jobs?"

They burst into laughter.

"What the fuck! What do you do then?"

When Tommy was adopted by Phil, maybe he should've paid attention to the man's long-winded explanation of what _exactly_ his job was. Because apparently he'd basically _outright_ told him, _"I work in the mafia, Tommy"_ and he just fucking _hadn't_ noticed.

Even better, Wil and Techno had assumed he'd _known._

(He'd thought they'd been more open with him since then. Of course, he'd put it down to the papers finally being signed; although it now seemed more like the trust you held when someone knew your secret and assuredly wouldn't tell.)

He was so fucked.

Technoblade? Muscle for the mafia? Sure. The guy had the guts to charge at a bull, if he wanted to, and he sure as hell had the muscle-mass to go up against your average two-fifty pounder.

But Wilbur? Thin, scrawny, almost _waif-like, Wilbur?_ Tommy felt bad about it but he sooner imagined Wilbur knocked out by one punch than him getting any hits in. And Phil? Peaceful to the point of suspected pacifism, happy-go-lucky _Philza?_ Members of the fucking mafia?

No way in hell.

He voiced these such thoughts and got laughed at a little more until Techno was wheezing and Wilbur looked a little faint.

"There's not just _'muscle men'_ in a mafia, Toms," Wilbur eventually answered. "Techno's one sure, but I'm more of a planner and Phil's more an advisor. We sit at the table with a map on it and decide where to tell the boss we need more men on security detail while Tech goes out and beats up the guys who don't pay protection."

"Only sometimes," Techno huffed, looking put out with his arms crossed, as if Tommy's new mental image of Techno beating the shit out of somebody wasn't cool as fuck. "I'm usually on bodyguard duty."

"Yeah, yeah," Wilbur waved him off, offering Tommy a bright grin. The clock hung above the counter to the left of the kitchen sink caught his eye (it was 9.12, Tommy noticed) and he clapped once. "Why don't we get this show on the road. The meeting with the boss starts at ten so if we can introduce you before that we'll be flying!"

"If it doesn't take the bus an hour to get there again," Techno snorted, setting his empty coffee mug into the dishwasher's metal rack.

"Of course it won't," Wilbur assured. "Go put your shoes on, Tommy."

It took the bus an hour to get there, thanks to London's traffic. Tommy hated London.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guess who got carried away so now the chap count is up to 3? meee
> 
> also, disclaimer i dont live in london so idk wots going on. sorry if its not realistic. its au london lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you guys like eret centric fics that are pog go read my eau de résistance - a dreamsmp war fic. 
> 
> plus, thank you all for the nice comments and kudos. you guys are all so cute

When Tommy thought of mafia he thought of comics and films. He imagined old black and white screen-captures where the men met in alleyways with masks and guns and knives or in shady, weird warehouses with large tables in the centre and men holding guns circling the perimeter as suited men wearing scuffed ties argued over drugs and who got what land and where.

To be fair, he'd probably watched a few too many cartoons.

The bus ride was shit. The traffic was shit. There'd been an accident along some main road and it had set them back ten minutes after they'd already been forced to grab three busses into the city centre. Why Phil had chosen a suburban house, Tommy would never know; it wasn't even a remotely good one.

"Just don't say anything too rude and you'll be fine," Techno had said in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring as they'd walked off the bus at the final stop. It hadn't done Tommy any favours. The fact he didn't _really_ know what to expect also kinda set him off.

Whatever it was he did expect, it was not _this._

Maybe he'd subconsciously been rooting for an old crumbling warehouse or an old factory like all those ones in the middle-city that were mostly converted into lofts now. Following his brothers up to a skyscraper office block with glittering windows and shiny revolving doors was not what he'd imagined. Far from it.

The building had to be at least _sixty_ stories high, reaching and reaching and _reaching._ It just kept going, disappearing into the far heights that Tommy couldn't see because his neck could only go so far back before his back stopped his owl-bending. He probably looked like some primary schooler - a gaping six year old - but he didn't really care.

There were guards. Guys in sleek black suits, all bulging biceps and thick thighs and toned waists that were essentially Dwayne Johnson body replicas but more bodybuilder-like and _realer_ than any movie star could ever get. These were men who had put their livelihoods into this, had put their all in and expected to come out at the end of a beat down in one piece.

They hulked around the doors, masses of muscle as they stood one to each side, two men creating a gate of sorts between the two worlds of pavement versus building. The sun glinted down on the glass windows, leaving Tommy unable to see anything more than these burly men by the front revolving spin-doors.

He followed his brothers as they strode towards the building, noting the lack of any lettering to signify a company or enterprise. Techno's strides were sharp and alert, Wil's long and steady; Tommy went for the middleground and tried to keep his breathing even as the guards nodded to the twins and kept their gazes averted.

_Holy shit,_ a small part of him chanted. _Holy shit, this is real._

Before they'd left the house, Wil and Techno had explained in great detail how _"this is not a prank, Tommy"_ and _"if you don't believe us you won't be laughing later when you fuck up and get_ _stabbed"._ And Tommy did not want stabbed, thank you very much, so he'd play along with this even if it _was_ somehow a prank.

A prank seemed more realistic than his entire family being involved with the mafia. But they wouldn't go to this extent just to _prank_ him. Would they?

Thinking back on it, that bruise that had engulfed Techno's jaw a few months back had probably been from this. Wilbur's wonky sleep schedule probably wasn't helped by the stress of some rich white man breathing down his neck in a bid for the next jackpot; the next win. Phil's tight-lipped silence about his job generally was probably some sort of oath of silence.

What was he getting into? Why had his family suddenly decided to introduce him to all this? Did they think seventeen was old enough?

Not that Tommy was scared. Nah, Tommy Innit never got scared. Plus, if his overachieving brothers thought he was ready, he could sure as hell show them up.

Wilbur bounced over to the perky receptionist with hair as dark as coal and eyeliner thicker than Techno's motivation. She was pretty enough, Tommy decided, watching as Wilbur draped himself over the tall, grey semi-circle shaped desk and began flirting.

Techno stood beside him, bored as shit judging from his sloped shoulders and blank stare. Tommy peered around himself, getting a good look at the foyer of the building, seeing plush, modern grey armchairs nestled around coffee tables over to the right and a huge spiral staircase with thin glass-like steps taking up the majority of the right.

The common decor theme appeared to be modern, shiny metal things, all light blues, soft greys and crisp whites that reflefted nicely with the metallic film most things had. An array of chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, crystal chimes swinging and chittering in the breeze of people walking and the bite of wind that made it through the revolving doors.

All crisp, fresh, cold metals; the grey floor had the same sleek shine as that fake modern wood panelling - the ones that cost a lot - and the huge room was practically abuzz with technology, from the huge eighty inch tv hanging above the waiting area to the clear-screen tablets people dressed like secretaries (or just fancy office workers) ran about clutching. To the far right of the reception desk sat a slim, gleaming elevator, buried into the wall alongside a hallway that branched further back and seemingly opened up to offices.

If he were to have walked in here by chance, Tommy never would've associated this place with the fucking _mafia._ That could've been why the police hadn't raided them yet and why the building was able to so obviously stand out in the open.

His eldest brother pulled his wrist up to squint at his thick metal watch and sighed. Loud enough for Wilbur to hear, he said, "It's twenty past ten."

"Ah," Wilbur murmured over to the flushed receptionist. Her face was a startling red now, a brash contrast against her navy button-up suit. Boring brown eyes were flushed bright with nothing more than rapture. How his brother managed to seduce _everyone_ , Tommy did not know but he wanted tips _yesterday_. "Well, Evanette, it's been lovely talking to you but we'd better get going. Can't be late, hm?"

"Of course, of course, Wilbur," the lady fawned. She gave a little wave, quick but filled with more emotion than Tommy necessarily wanted to see. "See you later!"

"Toodles," Wil smiled, waving back as he turned to the right and began to walk for the stairs that seemed to curl like a weary snake with a thin cylinder-like bannister that sparkled in the bright lights. As the brown haired boy moved towards the stairs, Techno spurred to life, legs shooting out to level off his pace with his twins'. Tommy gave a huff of annoyance and sped after them both.

It felt as if years had passed by the time they all got to the third floor, the point where the spiral staircase halted. Tommy felt he was walking fast enough to be sprinting as they hurried down lavish corridors, past wooden doors and the occasional armchair and water-cup filler. The entire building was the definition of _new,_ paint fresh and bright to go along with the clean state and bustling energy of the place.

"We'll grab the fourth floor elevator and ride it up to sixtieth before walking up to sixty-second and riding up to the penthouse." Wilbur declared, leading the way with fast steps. He dodged around the suited individuals littering the halls, all holding tablets or sheathes of paper. Office workers, indeed; either a cover or legitimate workers, he didn't know nor care.

"Why can't we just take a lift straight up to the penthouse?" Tommy argued, narrowly avoiding a collision with a guy whose face was buried in his stack of papers. Clumsy fucks, filers, the lot of them.

"That lift's broken," Techno grunted. "Dream spilt coffee onto its control panel yesterday. "

Tommy didn't like the sound of this _'Dream'_ fella. He'd have to teach him the one hundred and one reasons why you _didn't_ break a lift. Number one, obviously, being as to not annoy Tommy Innit himself. Nothing good ever came from breaking rule number one.

"Which means we have to do a bit of floor-hopping." Wilbur added, shrugging lackadaisically as he side-stepped away from a a stout older woman frowning angrily at a fully stocked vending machine. Sometimes Tommy forgot how fluid Wil could be, and was reminded of it in times like these, where the tallest successfully avoided enraging peeved pensioners by _not_ charging into them. Whereas Tommy, by comparison, nearly walked into the woman if not for a _gentle_ tug from Techno.

The pink haired man smirked down at him, lips curling as Tommy gagged from the angle his shirt had dug into his neck. He was remorseless, even going so far as to pick up the pace as Tommy glared and scowled at him once he'd caught his breath back.

"No worries," Wil was still waffling, hand waving in the air as he navigated the wide, long halls. "We can't be much later than we already are. Not like the meetings ever start on time, anyways."

After what felt like far too long of sprinting through maze-like winding hallways whilst rearing out of the paths of oblivious office workers, they finally made it to the stairwell at the other side of the building. Wil held the swing door open and ushered Tommy up the concrete steps after Techno.

"We usually take these stairs," Wil said, not seeming out of breath in the least. Tommy was winded and slightly glad that he'd sprayed on more deodorant than usual when they stopped at another shiny metal door and pushed through it. Techno led this time, directing them to a fancy bleach-smelling lift where Tommy took the time to regain his breath as they zoomed up nearly fifty floors in a matter of a few minutes.

Lift music tittered at them, some sort of odd mix between jazz and classical piano. Tommy leaned against the railing as Wilbur fussed with his hair in the surrounding mirrors. Technoblade tapped at something on his phone before pocketing it.

"Phil says the meeting hasn't started. Boss isn't here yet."

Wil snorted. "I thought there was a new driver?"

"There is," Techno nodded. "They needed a new one after the bypass incident."

Tommy tuned them out, briefly wondering if that was a good thing to do after he'd apparently managed to ignore Phil explaining his _entire job in the mafia_ to him. He decided he didn't really care, and definitely not about _drivers_ , which was probably code for chauffeur or some fancy shit like that.

He fully expected to be dragged up to this penthouse and be forced to stare down some old white bigot with at least two-thirty pounds extra bodymass than was healthy and a suit bulging at the seams. An image popped into his head; a man: pale, plump, greasy haired, a black suit, dress shoes shined with his personal butler's spit propped up on a large filmsy desk that looked ready to buckle, much like the seat he sat on. The guy would be _greed;_ shiny beetle-like eyes, a crooked nose like Snape's, thick eyebrows, tight smile, crow's eyes and a lined forehead. 

Tommy realised that was mildly rude and cut his train of thought just as the elevator slowed to a stop. His brothers had resorted to complaining about how they had to grab multiple lifts when they could've taken just one if not for _"that butterfingered-fuck"._ (Words courtesy of a now pouting Wilbur.)

The floor they walked out onto seemed a little more lavish, walls decorated in varying triangles of light grey against the white backdrop. Thin strips of gold outlined the triangles, making them almost shine. This pattern swirled down the walls, blooming out like a flower, rolling along like methodically placed cogs in the wall.

Wil caught him staring. "This floor used to be the top a while back, before renovations. The walls were usually what investors seen first so they were pretty odd. At least, from what I've been told."

"So what, it was decided to repaint the place weirder?" Tommy asked. Techno had already started down the hall, tall figure a beacon amidst the littany of couches stuck to the walls. There were notably fewer people scurrying around, a small mercy.

"Guess so," Wil agreed, stepping out of the lift's alcove to follow after his twin. "The boss has some _different_ tastes. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cant bevelie i spent a whole chap talking about an office building, what a life i have


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAKE SURE TO SUBSCRIBE TO ARKHOS SERIES FOR MORE IN THIS AU!!

Technoblade disliked long walks. The jaunt from the first floor to the third counted as a long one, with the third to fourth staircase being a pain and the subsequent jog from sixtieth to sixty-second becoming a menace. He was inches away from inviting Dream to another duel (they'd had one a little while ago, before the lover of smiley faces had moved with the boss to London) because somehow the idiot had managed to break the sole elevator that actually went all the way up to the penthouse.

"My legs," Wilbur breathed, sagging as they both got into the sixty-second floor elevator. Technoblade offered his twin a smirk, pretending his own legs weren't moaning too, and hit the button for the penthouse.

The doors whirred shut. He flipped the indistinguishable cap imbedded into the wall, almost expecting a caustic remark from Tommy (but none came, a relief in itself) as he tapped a code into the nine-buttoned panel. He'd almost forgotten it, a side effect from having never used it due to their regular lift having facial recognition that automatically let them into the penthouse without codes.

It was oddly silent, a swift contrast to how Tommy had been muttering the whole day. The teen was annoyed that he hadn't known, despite the fact Phil had sat him down and went over their jobs in great detail after his adoption papers had went through. How the kid had managed to ignore the fact they worked in the mafia, Technoblade did not know. Just, _h_ _ow?_

Evidently, he'd been giving Tommy's intuition props when he shouldn't have been, if he'd overestimated him so much. Brotherly affection, Phil would've called it; Technoblade called it his own misgivings and stupidity. It was oversights like these that got good men killed.

The lift pinged at them and they walked out into the expansive penthouse. The first room to be walked into was a lounge-area, filled with a soft carpet after the first square of hard wood (accompanied with a shoe rack beside it). Technoblade looked over to his left at movement and found Sapnap and Fundy quarrelling over a game they were playing on the ps in the beanbag corner. The penthouse was designed with comfort in mind, explaining the large gaming area and the tiled kitchenette and island bar to the leftern side and the long dining table directly opposite the beanbags on the right side.

To the far back of the room, opposite the kitchenette, spun a black metal framed, glass stepped spiral staircase. It led to the second penthouse floor, opening up into a large room soley for meetings, although it was technically the boss's office.

It was that room which the broken lift opened straight up to without prompting, inviting executives and investors into a large room that shone with light due to wall-consuming windows and a large dark wood desk. The large desk was generally tidy, usually due to the fact the boss preferred their upstairs office to the larger one. It stood out in the center back, overlooking the seating arrangements. There were two armchairs dead in front of the desk, although they were usually pulled back to line up with the two couches sitting around the glass coffee table; the only seating in the room for people other than the boss.

The room was too big to just hold that, though, so it was actually split around the sides, with a bathroom to the right and a spare bed nestled into a secret room to the left. The dark oak doors and fake panel walls were barely noticeable against the general decor and so it merely seemed as if the office was the sole purpose of that room, to an outsider's perspective.

Although, the sprial staircase continued on, hidden on the second floor by the fake walls. The penthouse was three floors in total, and on the final was a large zigzag of half-walls and sliding doors. The boss's bedroom was up there, ensconced in the furthest corner from the staircase but still surrounded by windows. The entire three floors were glass-covered, the walls of the tower wrapping around them to give stunning but paranoia-inducing sights.

Technoblade was a body guard, after all. That meant he had to worry about potential enemies somehow smashing through large bulletproof window sheets to cut his boss's throat in the dead of night.

"Wil! Techno!" Niki called, her bright beaming smile catching him like a deer in headlights. Wilbur preened under it, immediately flouncing over to her. "How are you both today?"

"We're excellent, Niki," Wil smiled, turning half a step to look back at him and Tommy. His smile dimmed, eye twitching like it did when something hadn't went to plan after he'd worked hard on it. "I was about to introduce Tommy to you but he's not here?"

A creeping sense of dread speared Technoblade's chest. He felt cold, fingers twitching with the pins and needles that had only ever come that one time he'd lost Wilbur in a busy Tescos. He turned, hoping to prove his twin wrong, and found an empty lift's doors sliding shut. "Thought the ride up was too quiet," he sighed.

"Oh dear," Niki said, drawing more attention than Wilbur's vacant stare and hushed words had.

"Wilbur! Technoblade!" George waved, popping up from behind the alcohol-serving island. He blinked at them, glasses moving from Technoblade's direction to a frowning Wilbur and half-amused, half-worried Niki's. "What's going on?"

"We've lost Tommy." Wil said, sounding more in mourning than necessary. His eyes pierced into Technoblade's soul. "He was with us at sixty, I know that much."

"We've lost him between the stairs to lift, then," Technoblade deduced.

"Who's lost who?" Phil asked, stepping down the staircase into the room. He blinked at them for a long moment. "I thought you guys said you were gonna bring Tommy with you?"

Wilbur made an odd choking noise. "Well, that's the thing. We did."

Realization dawned. "Ah," Phil sighed. "I'm sure he'll show up. If he runs into one of the assistants they'll direct him up and ping us."

Technoblade knew this was a lost cause. He shook his head and made his way over the the fridge for a bottle of water.

Tommy hadn't meant to get lost. No, he wasn't lost - Wil and Techno had just ran away and left him. Yeah. They'd abandoned him on the floor with spiralling traingles and never-ending plush carpets that sucked your shoes down into them a good half-inch.

And he was annoyed about it. The thing is, he could've sworn Wil was right in front of him with Techno one second, then he'd noticed his trainer laces were undone and he'd been forced to stop - Phil's voice saying _"don't want you to trip and hurt yourself, kiddo"_ to which he'd mentally responded that he was a _big man._

Anyway, he'd tied his shoelaces, double checked they were good, and had looked up not to find Techno or Wil's figures scurrying away from him, but instead an empty hallway.

Techno was the Human GPS, not Tommy.

So, a bit worried he'd get lost in the never-ending stairwell and die of dehydration, he stuck to the sixty-something floor they'd left him on. When he tried to call the lift it was occupied, which was great.

He'd walked around a little bit, had bumped into a few more vending machines and had eventually came across a very long hallway that only broke off to two doors on the left side. He reckoned he was about halfway into the building, and had opened up one of two large swing doors (that looked awfully akin to what his old school had over the cafeteria) and walked into a room larger than anything he'd seen yet. Maybe just a tad smaller than the foyer, though.

Tables were everywhere, people lined around them eating or laughing. To the very far back sat a large silver section of warming benches and fridges, a table of stacked plates and bowls and cutlery. As soon as he stepped inside, the chatter fluctuated as a mass of black suited people turned to look, and volume dimmed.

Tommy stood still under the gazes of possibly a hundred people.

"You lost, kid?" Some guy called, walking up to him. He wore a suit, like everyone, but his shit under was a striped mix of blue and grey. His hair had light blue highlights. "I'm Wisp."

"Cool," Tommy said. "I'm Tommy. I need up to the penthouse."

"The penthouse?" Some chick with brown hair and a grey hoodie on under her suit jacket asked. "That's a long way up, kid. You sure you're allowed in?"

Tommy geared up to snap at the girl that _of course I'm allowed in_ but some guy spoke up in his stead.

"Don't patronize the poor boy, Kara," chided a guy with rectangular glasses and a bored look. "Last time you did that we nearly went to war over a perceived slight against the Unus Annus faction."

"Yeah, well that guy had it coming. He laughed at me when I slipped on the snow!" Kara bristled.

"And you wonder why the boss does not take you with them on business ventures no more," a guy with mousey hair said, a blue scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Shut up, Jameskii!" Hissed Kara, hair whirling around her in a halo as she turned to viscously point at the scarf-guy. "The boss doesn't take you out either."

"That's because James raided a melon store and cost us three grand," some other guy pointed out.

Both Jameskii and Kara whirled on him. "Shut up, Ant!"

Wisp turned away from Tommy in an effort to block the two's path towards the guy with a cat badge pinned on his suit. Noticing how everyone else was mainly focussed on the squabbling, Tommy took his chance and slid back out the doors.

Out in the hallway he sucked in a breath and took off sprinting, flinching as a sharp bang rang out from the other door's direction. Heart hammering, he backtracked towards the main hub place where they'd gotten off the elevator at but instead found the large concrete stairwell that seemed to go all the way up the side of the building.

He stepped into it, the chill of cold stone biting at him now that he was alone and unmoving. Sounds in here were dulled, faint murmurs wafting out past the doors before being swept away by the cold breeze. The thick glass that was in place of the outer wall shone with sunlight, almost blinding him as it lit up the stairs. Tommy looked up at the dancing beam of sunrays and decided to follow them.

Not because he was lost. Nah, he was just _misplaced._

_Oh,_ what he would give to have his brothers here.

He got tired after walking up what had to have been _six_ floors. His legs were screaming at him, thighs still trying to move even as he stopped by a door to push it open. The appreciation of his overzealous deodorant application was back like a hammer, his hand fanning his hot face and brushing back his curls as his other hand mapped out the wall.

A few minutes later found him wandering aimlessly down a hallway. All the doors were shut tight, dark wood looming over him. The LEDs overhead were bright here, needing to be so where the sun didn't shine.

Almost wishing he'd worn a watch, Tommy sat on the first couch he found. It sucked him into the pillows and he flopped there, staring up at the thin black blobs that span over the ceiling paint in his eyes.

He lay there, half comatose, for what felt like years.

"Are you alright?" A deep voice asked eventually, sounding amused.

Tommy pulled his head out of the crease he'd made in the cushions and blinked up at a tall guy with short brown hair and a white blouse. He was wearing a pair of green jeans, sipping from a weird drink with yellow bits and what looked like a floating orange _egg_ in it. Blue eyes sparkled down at him.

"Are you lost?" He asked. "I'm Eret, they/them."

He blinked at them for a long moment, trying to sort his thoughts into a coherent sentence. "Uh, Tommy. He/him."

"Nice to meet you, Tommy," Eret beamed, possibly just as tall as Wilbur. They offered him a hand and pulled him out of the couch. "Any relation to Wil and Tech?"

"Brothers," he clarified, casting the green hoodie wearing guy a look. The guy had a white mask on, one of those fabric face masks that covered up everything from chin to nose, and his eyes were shaded by his large green hood. On both his mask and hoodie was a smiley face, thick and menacingly drawn on with what was probably sharpie.

"And Phil's your dad," Eret nodded enthusiastically, swirling their straw through their drink. It swirled up the weird yellow looking things. "This here is Dream, he's a darling."

"You're the guy that broke the lift?" Tommy seethed.

The guy had the decency to look away, hands in his front hoodie pocket. His combat boots stood out against the soft carpet, a huge difference to Eret's red converse.

"He didn't mean to," Eret laughed easily. "We all make our mistakes, don't we? I take it you're needing a pass up to the penthouse?"

"Yeah," he muttered, letting the topic change.

"Good, lift it is. Would you like a _mote con huesillo_?" They started off down the hallway, shaking their drink in its glass travel mug once more.

The bits moved, swirling around. Tommy levelled off his pace with theirs, ignoring their burning thighs. "I think I'm good. What are those things in it?"

"Oh, the small bits are _mote._ Essentially wheat. The egg looking thing is a dried peach. It's a syrup drink."

"Why would you drink _that?"_

"It's a Chilean traditional drink, good for summer time." Eret hummed. "I think the food theme next week'll be Korean. I've heard a lot about their _yaksik_."

Eret chattered the whole way to the lift, not even slowing when Dream twisted around from behind them both to pull up a metal plate in the wall. It lifted to reveal a glowing number pad, a small screen blinking to show dots as he pumped in six numbers. The floor numbers at the top of the lift, above the doors, flashed once before the final one - number 100 - flashed red.

The doors opened and Tommy squinted against the sunlight that was suddenly beaming into his eyes through the opposing windows. There was a sudden lull of silence as Eret stepped out and tugged Tommy with him.

Everyone was standing, Wil, Techno and Phil included; backs straight, eyes on Eret. There was a respect in the air that he hadn't expected to be able to feel.

_Unless-_

Tommy looked up to them and found them sipping from their drink. They caught his stare and broke off to smile at him. Their eyes glowed in the light.

"Welcome to the family, Tommy. You'll fit right in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive probably disappointed some of you, if so ha.
> 
> if you couldnt tell. eret is boss. they also be 22yrs old.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr, hehe: 
> 
> https://evieevyevie.tumblr.com


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